Jacob Pascoe writes:

“Ink is a novel about that void between lived experience and memory, memory and testimony, testimony and history, history and narrative, narrative and reader, reader and writer, writer and language, language and the people that take it in. Woodward is singularly capable of holding these disparate pieces together and presenting them to us as a fully formed mandala of the distinct personal effects of a novel. And isn’t that what all writers are supposed to do?”

Read the rest of the review HERE.

(Message me for a review copy, etc.)

Thanks, Jacob Pascoe And thanks, George Salis!